you're kind of gangster
by flowermasters
Summary: Gunner smiles a lot. Emma thinks he's pretty cute, for a pothead. - Gunner/Emma.


A/N: The writing bug bit me this afternoon. I've been meaning to write Gunner/Emma, because they are just too cute. So voila!

Warnings for: Gunner/Emma, onesided Norman/Emma, some discussion of past and future underage/illegal drug use, some language.

Set immediately after 1x10, so Emma is not aware of most of the Norman-centric events of that episode. Title inspired by a line from 'What I Like' by Charli XCX.

* * *

Emma is very tempted to not come into work the day after the dance. She has a chronic illness, after all; it would be very easy to play sick. Norma probably wouldn't even question it (although she and Norman are very close, so it's quite possible that Norma already knows.) But Emma has decided that she's going to move on from Norman, and that means she can't act like a child and skip work just to avoid him – she can't let her emotions get in the way of anything, really. She's going to get over Norman, because in the end it's not worth it. Life is too short to pine over a boy who's too blockheaded to notice her, after all.

That's what she tells herself, at least. But it's easier said than done. She throws herself into work once she sits down in the office – Norma said to throw everything out that wasn't essential, yes, but Emma knows what Keith Summers was really doing all those years he ran the Seafarer, and she's morbidly fascinated by every shoddy record she comes across – but she catches her mind drifting to Norman often. She wonders what he's doing, and not in the way she used to wonder about him. She used to wonder if he was thinking about her, if he was in the shower or eating a snack or doing something, anything at all – but now she wonders if he's even the slightest bit upset after what happened last night. Maybe he's angry? She wonders who he got a ride home from last night, and she knows with a sick little sense of satisfaction that it couldn't have been from Bradley, because she would have come with Richard and even Norman can't be that blind.

But it doesn't matter if he got a ride from Bradley or not, or if he even spoke to her at all last night – he wants her, and that's that. Emma swallows hard and tries to pretend that thought doesn't hurt. A thin sheen of tears blurs her vision, and she blinks them back furiously. _No_, she thinks, _I am not going to cry_ –

There's a knock on the office door, and Emma jumps, looking up like a deer caught in headlights. Through the glass, she locks eyes with the boy from the other night – the one who'd given her the pot cupcake. He's smiling at her, and Emma bites her lip before forcing a polite smile onto her face. "Come in," she says, a tad hesitantly. She can't possibly imagine what he wants – all the other potheads are clearing out this morning, and they're all loading into a big van now. Norman's older brother has been skulking around, keeping a watchful eye on all of them – probably to make sure they aren't stealing anything when they leave. Heaven knows what Norma would do if that happened.

The boy – Gunner, Emma recalls easily, that's what he'd written on the note he'd left with the cupcake – tries the doorknob, and then cocks his head at her with an amused smile. "It's locked," he says, his voice muffled by the glass but his meaning clear anyways.

"Oh," Emma says, surprised. She didn't realize she'd locked it after coming in, but she stands up immediately to go open it. She unlocks it, and she's about to open the door for him when he goes ahead and opens it. She runs an awkward hand through her hair and says as she steps back slightly, "Sorry about that."

He grins at her, easy and casual and cute enough to make her heart skip a beat. He really is handsome, in a very carefree sort of way – not at all like Norman, who is very cute but very quiet about it. She doesn't know where to look – at his eyes, or his mouth, or anywhere but his face. Emma's not like Bradley Martin; she doesn't know how to handle boys. That's probably why she couldn't catch Norman's eye while Bradley snapped him up without even trying.

"No problem," he says. His grin slips slightly, but doesn't quite fade. "Hey, you okay?"

"What?" Emma says, blinking. She was going to have to get better at hiding things if she wanted to last very long working for Norman's mother. "Oh. I'm fine, thanks."

Gunner gives her a funny look, but he's still smiling. "Okay," he says.

Emma gives him a second to continue, and when he doesn't, she scrambles to figure out why he's here. Maybe he wants to sell her some dope now that he's given her a taste of it. That's something a pothead would do, right? "So, um," she says, "what can I help you with?"

He shifts and begins to dig into the pocket of his jacket. "I came to pay for my room," he says. "I'm leaving today."

"Yeah, I noticed," she says. Her gaze flicks to the window briefly, and she watches for a second as Dylan passes by outside, cigarette dangling from his lips, before she returns her gaze to Gunner. "Did you enjoy your stay?" she asks. It's meant to be a simple gesture of politeness, but she really is curious. She wonders how much pot he's smoked during his stay here – wonders what it's like, to be so free and so uninhibited. She wouldn't know.

"Yeah, I did," Gunner says, giving her a little half-grin. Emma's heart does another funny little skip in her chest. Boys are stupid, but damn if they aren't cute. "It's definitely been interesting. I'll be back soon enough, though."

Emma smiles – a real smile this time. She's not exactly sure why she cares that he'll be staying at the motel again. Maybe she hopes she'll still be working here when he does, and she'll get to see him. He switches to the other pocket then, and finally comes up with what he's looking for – a slightly crumpled handful of cash. He holds it out to her. "This should cover it, right?"

"Um," Emma says, reaching out to take his money. His fingers brush her palm, and she pretends not to notice. "I think so. Let me check the, uh, books."

She goes over to the desk again, and he follows her, but stops a few steps from the desk. A polite distance, and she's grateful for it. She's not afraid of him, by any means, but she also isn't sure how to behave around him. He's not like Norman – Gunner's not as socially awkward as she is. It's refreshing, in an odd sort of way.

Emma locates the ledger after a moment's search, and finds Gunner's name a second later. "You're good," she says, pressing her finger to the page lightly. "Actually, you've given me too much. I'm sorry, I don't have any change – I'll call Norma, and –,"

"Don't worry about it," Gunner says. "Keep the change."

She looks up at him, surprised, and hesitates. "Are you sure? I can call Norma down here; it's not a problem."

"Nah, it's all good," Gunner responds, with a shrug.

Emma smiles again, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear a bit shyly. Gunner's eyes follow the movement, and now Emma is blushing. "How about this," Emma says. "I'll tell Norma to give you a discount on your next stay."

Gunner grins at her. "Sounds good to me."

Emma holds his gaze for a second, but a noise outside the office distracts her. She glances out the window again. Dylan is pacing about ten feet away from the office door, his cell phone pressed to his ear. The sound of his voice carries, although she can't make out the words. "Are you supposed to be leaving now?" Emma asks Gunner, unsure.

"Nah," Gunner says, sparing Dylan a glance. "They're looking for Ra'uf. He's gone AWOL."

"Ra'uf," Emma repeats, looking back at Gunner with raised eyebrows.

He chuckles. "Weird, huh?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"That reminds me, though," Gunner says, giving her a warm look. "I never got your name."

"Oh," she says. "It's Emma."

"Emma," Gunner repeats, with a nod. "And you already know my name. Well, you do if you read my note."

Emma's cheeks feel hot again. She read his note, yes. And ate his cupcake. And subsequently made a fool of herself. "Yeah, I read the note," she says.

He laughs – but not like he's laughing _at_ her. More like he's laughing for the sake of laughing, or like she's said something cute or funny when really she hasn't. Boys are mystifying. "I'm guessing you ate the cupcake," he says, pleased. "Did you like it?"

She bites her lip to restrain a smile. "Sort of. It was – interesting."

"Just interesting?" he says, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Interesting," she repeats. "I ended up acting like an idiot, so I'm not sure if it can be classified as fun."

He doesn't seem to ever stop smiling. "But acting like an idiot is the best part."

She laughs. "Maybe to you," she says. "But I acted like an idiot in front of my boss and – my friend." She doesn't mean to hesitate, but she does. Norman's not really her friend anymore. She'd hoped he would be more than a friend, but, well, the Rolling Stones said it best – you can't always get what you want. Maybe being away from Norman is what she needs. That's what she's trying to tell herself, at least.

"Your friend," Gunner says. "Dylan's little brother?"

It's strange to hear Norman referred to as such; he's always been Norman to her, and Dylan has always been Norman's older brother. Dylan and Norman are such polar opposites in Emma's mind that sometimes she forgets that they're both Norma's sons. They do make a bizarre trio, Norman and his mother and brother. "Yeah," she says, a bit hesitantly. "Norman Bates."

Gunner nods. "I saw you and him last night," he says, a bit too serious to be conversational. "Leaving for your date."

Emma winces. "Oh," she says. "No, that wasn't – it wasn't a date." _I was stupid enough to think that it was_, she wants to add, but doesn't. She doesn't want Gunner to get the wrong idea about her. She's trying not to be bitter here.

"You sure?" Gunner says, smiling at her again. "It looked like a date."

She'd thought so, too. Sure, Norman had been behaving sort of oddly – well, that was nothing strange in itself. But she'd thought it was a _date_, maybe. She'd been wrong, of course. "It wasn't," she repeats, more firmly. "Not to him, at least. We just went to a dance together."

Something must leak into her tone – anger, bitterness, hurt – because now he looks more serious. "Well, he's fuckin' crazy," Gunner says. "As pretty as you looked, any guy would call that a date."

Emma's cheeks must be pink, but she doesn't care. It's nice to be complimented. She likes that Gunner thinks she's pretty, likes that he noticed her last night when Norman had barely seemed to see her at all. "Um," she says, with a bit of a nervous laugh in her voice. "Thanks."

"No problem," he says, meeting her gaze. His eyes are a pretty color, she notes. They're bright green, with flecks of lighter green in them. Kind of like the color of pot, but a lot prettier. She giggles a little bit at the thought; a hardcore stoner with green eyes – the irony is hard to miss. When she laughs, he smiles. "What?"

"Nothing," she says, biting her lower lip to restrain her laughter. Laughing in his face probably isn't very cute on her part.

Gunner drops his gaze for a second, and he's smiling shyly, although his words still come quick. "How about," he says, "you let me take you dancing sometime."

Emma is momentarily flabbergasted. "What?"

Gunner shrugs. "You know," he says. "You, me. A club. Dancing."

Is he asking her out on a date? Emma is pretty sure she's somehow stepped into an alternate universe, like the Mirror universe on _Star Trek_. She can't even get her only male friend – her only friend, period – to see that she's interested in him. (_Was interested in him_, she reminds herself.) Boys, cute boys like Gunner, don't just ask the nobody with the oxygen tank to go out dancing. Her mind runs at a mile a minute – what will she wear? Something sexy, but what on Earth does she have that's sexy? Wait, when did she decide to say yes?

"Do you mean, like . . . a date?" she questions, trying not to sound as shy as she feels. He must take that for a yes – it pretty much is, really.

He's sexy when he smirks. She likes it, although it makes her nervous all the same. Good-nervous, though. Excited. "Definitely a date."

"I'm not eighteen yet," she warns him then. She's not trying to pull a jailbird card on him – no, far from that. She feels a little guilty about it, but she wants whatever he's offering. "I can't get into a club."

He laughs. "Neither can I," he says, "but I still find a way in."

Emma laughs, too, a little bit giddily. He's a _bad boy_, she realizes. He's probably a dropout, definitely an underage drinker and smoker – but he's nice. He called her pretty and he wants to take her _dancing_.

"Um, yeah," she says finally. "Yeah, I'd like that, Gunner."

"Cool," he says, running a hand through his already disheveled hair and smiling at her. He looks a little bit relieved, like he'd been worried she might say no. "We can go when I come back through town, then?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling. "That sounds good." She's not sure where on earth there is to go dancing in White Pine Bay, but she figures he knows a place or two. Besides, she wouldn't mind driving to the big city with him. Never let it be said that Emma doesn't have an adventurous heart.

She's still smiling at him when someone knocks on the door. She jumps slightly, startled, and looks through the glass to see Dylan. Dylan gives her a polite little nod, then looks at Gunner and gestures to the van. Gunner nods, but doesn't move; instead, he looks back at Emma.

"Can I get your number before I go?" he asks.

No one's ever asked for Emma's phone number before, and it gives her a sweet little rush. "Sure," she says. "Here – I'll write it down for you. I need you to sign the ledger before you go, to prove that you paid."

Gunner nods, and smiles at her when she hands him a pencil. She finds a scrap of paper and writes down her name and cell phone number, taking care to make sure her writing is neat and legible. Gunner, she notes, signs his name in a child's cursive – big letters with messy flourishes. It's fitting, and oddly endearing.

She hands him the paper with her number on it, and finds herself hoping he'll call. She wonders what it'll be like to talk to him on the phone – to listen to his thoughts and opinions and share her own, or to hear his exhale as he breathes out a cloud of bittersweet smoke. What will they talk about? She doesn't really know, but it might be nice to find out. Gunner's different – not Norman-different, or even Emma-different. He's different from everything she knows, and maybe that's a good thing.

"Thanks," he says, pocketing the scrap of paper. "I'll call you. Oh, and maybe next time, I'll bring you some pot brownies."

She giggles. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."

He grins. "I promise you, you'll like 'em. I make some mean brownies."

She opens her mouth to respond, but a horn honks outside – Dylan, maybe, or that other guy that's been lurking around, the sour-faced one with two days' worth of five o'clock shadow – and she says instead, "You'd better go, before they get mad."

He nods. "You're right," he says. He gives her a grin. "See you 'round, Emma."

"Bye," she says, and she doesn't know when she makes the decision to walk him to the door, but she does. She holds it open for him, and then shuts it behind him. She watches him walk to the van, biting her lip to hide a smile. He turns around before he clambers in, and when he sees her still standing at the door, he throws her a grin and a casual little wave. She waves back, and he gets into the van and closes the door behind him. A moment later, the van pulls off and he's gone.

Emma tries to remind herself that nothing will probably come of this, but she's still smiling. She can't help but think that maybe not all boys are blockheaded. And maybe, just maybe, Norman Bates isn't what she wants at all.


End file.
